I Will Do Great Things
by Adden
Summary: A retelling of the same story we all love, but with a few added characters (OCs), and with some unpredictable twists and turns. But like all good stories, we're going to start from the very beginning. Rated M for later chapters. Disclaimer: Lots of sex, prostitutes, rape, alcohol, pillaging, you know, all the good stuff. Also, reviewing after reading would be swell. Thank. Bless.
1. Welcome to Thieves Landing

Ever since the country had been restored back to its natural greatness things had gotten progressively easier for the modern day laborer of Camelot. Things had even managed to become easier for the pickpockets and street sponges of Thieves Landing, in the province of Little Whinding.

Little Whinding was not a rich province, as a matter of fact, it could probably be considered as one of the poorest in the country. Two lords ruled the province, and were under the impression that if they continued to show the King support, both socially and financially, then their smoke screen would continue and their wonderful little lives would to be uninterrupted by any good-doing.  
The soil in Little Whinding was poor quality, so it was not the farmers that struck big when it came to wealth. No, it was the artists, the craftsmen, the musicians, the entertainers. Even your average-day whore made a prettier penny than a farmer.

Thieves Landing was the prime example of what happened when thieves and brigands climbed the ladder of political power. The town was topsy turvy with injustices and crime. Those who couldn't fend for themselves were either killed or were sold. If you couldn't protect yourself the town would swallow you whole, and your fate was left to chance, or on a bright day, luck. So naturally, Thieves Landing developed a reputation for being a tough town. Even the most desperate and hungry of wanderers wouldn't venture there, fearful for their lives and their pockets. Even the prestigious teachings and influences of Camelot could not touch Thieves Landing.

Those who welcomed the dank alleys and cold cobblestone streets as their home were a different breed of people. They were killers, con-artists, bandits, desperadoes by heart. But you might be mistaken if you think all the inhabitants of Thieves Landing are deplorable. You had your entrepreneurs, survivors, marauders... and that was exactly what Semone thought she was, an entrepreneur... of _sex_.

It was late afternoon, around the time Semone and Demona usually took their afternoon strolls. Their cloaks wrapped against their firm and shapely bodies, the heavy hoods weighing on their heads to shelter the sides of their faces from the cold. Even _some_ prostitutes worked in the rain. If you weren't advertising your services, you didn't get paid. If you didn't get paid, you didn't eat. Both Semone and Demona knew what that was like when they were younger. There had been nights where both of them had gone hungry. But those days were far behind them now. But this wasn't an advertising walk, as you can imagine. If it was they would be wearing their best dresses and clothing, looking for a dry corner to huddle in to display what they were selling.

Now that Semone and Demona were older they were experienced, precious commodities that men purposefully sought out, especially Semone. She had a reputation for being the most beautiful woman in Thieves Landing, her beauty rivaling royalty in the King's court in Camelot. So naturally men sought her out. Because Semone was deemed so precious by the public eye she could afford to be a little choosy with her clientele if she so chose. But at the end of the day, money was money and Semone considered herself a proud opportunist if anything.

Both women were beautiful, in their own way, being proud products of their natural environments. Semone was fair skinned, with golden waves that traveled to the small of her back. Her hair was almost always in a braid. She didn't like bangs or hair in her face, the feeling annoyed her greatly. She wanted people to see all of her; rounded high-set cheeks, pouty pink lips, a thin pointed nose, and big doe-like green eyes, that could challenge and put any man in the palm of her hand.

"Look at those two-bit whores," Demona spat cackling, leaning her head toward the opening of Semone's hood, gesturing to a couple of scantily clothed girls striking up a negotiation with a merchant. "Remember those days where we would have to street walk, day in and day out?" Demona stretched her arms over her head lazily, "glad we... well, glad _I_ kicked the habit." Demona looked to her companion a bit skeptically, to which Semone only smirked from under the shelter of her hood.

"You're far too proud for being Persian, isn't your race enslaved?" Semone prodded playfully, finding Demona's pride both annoying and admirable.

"I would love to see you say that to any other Persian not brought to this white-devil country of yours," Demona stated curtly, not finding Semone's playful tone any less insulting, "Your head would fall of your shoulders by your last word. I will have you know that-."

"_We Persians are fierce warriors and are conquerors at heart_, yes, yes," Semone finished, having heard this particular rant before. The two women approached the front of a whorehouse, ironically one of the tallest buildings in Thieves Landing. It was run by Brother Michael, a wayward priest gone twisted for evil, who not only made it a point to rule all the whores of Thieves Landing, but made a point to rule the men who came and visited them. Brother Michael liked being very _buddy-buddy_ with all the men who came to his fine established buisness to visit his women. Semone guessed his philosophy was you never knew when you might need to take advantage of somebodies else's services.

Semone found him disgusting, while Brother Michael found Semone, like the many other men who saw her, to be a precious commodity. He bribed and bartered and harassed and even threatened Semone to join his gaggle of girls, but the courtesan was unyielding and delivered the same answer to him day after day.

"Well, well, _well_. It isn't a everyday when Semone, _the precious courtesan of Thieve Landing_ greets us with her presence." barked a woman with bright orange hair, pulling up a tattered sleeve that kept falling from her shoulder. A few women behind her cackled in agreement, some laughing just because they too loathed Semone.

Demona yanked down her hood, bright cyan eyes lit with fury, "Do you wish to participate in combat, Raquel? Because I can do just that."

"I'll have none of Semone's _entourage_." the woman snarled, her lip raised in a sneer.

Semone held her tongue, knowing it tortured Demona to be compared to her or to be thought lesser than her. It wasn't fair.

Demona grabbed her hood and tossed it back over her head, "I'll be at the tavern in the square, I'll be seeing you, birdy," the dark skinned woman uttered between trembling lips. Semone wasn't sure if Demona was shaking out of fury or if she was shaking out of sadness. When her friend did take her leave, Semone removed her hood and smiled beautifully at Raquel.

"Dear Raquel, don't beat yourself up too much. If I had a dick I probably wouldn't want to stick it in you either."

Raquel looked aghast, as did the other women behind her. "Is that a challenge, dear?"

"I wouldn't want to challenge a street sponge, sweetheart. You're hardly worth my weight in terms of competition."

Raquel stumbled off the stone steps of the whorehouse and got in Semone's face, who seemed to be indifferent with the closeness.

"I bury you in the numbers of men that come to visit me," Raquel spat, droplets of saliva spattering on Semone's nose and mouth.

"Say it don't spray it, dear," Semone took a moment to wipe the wetness away with the tips of her fingers, "If my rates were as low as yours, then yes I suppose you do bury me in numbers." Semone smiled at Raquel's fury. "After all, anybody can buy a whore, but only a man of wealth can afford a courtesan." Semone relished in Raquel's anger once more, admiring the way her whole face became red, her eyes narrowing.

"Then you wouldn't be threatened by the prospect of a bet then, would you, _dear_?"

Semone took a step back and placed a finger along the outline of her face, looking thoughtful, "I'm listening."

"The Red Knight, Sir Ruber, an exiled knight of King Arthur's court is said to be visiting Thieves Landing. He and his men have been spreading fear into the countryside." Semone listened more, but was starting to loose interest. "I hear that he is a great and powerful man, and shamelessly wealthy from all the villages he and his men have pillaged and sacked." Semone's eyes instantly brightened, when Raquel mentioned the words _'wealthy'_ and _'shamelessly'_, but was silent still.

"I bet I can lure Sir Ruber into my bed before he even gets a chance to _look_ at you."

At this Semone burst out into a fit of shrill laughter.

"What!? _Come now!_ It isn't _that_ impossible."

"Alright, alright," Semone removed her hood, the light leaving the sky reflected off her golden braid. She began to undo her cloak, button by button. Each button she undid, the more horrified Raquel's expression became. The cloak dropped, and underneath it Semone wore a rich colored green corset, with a dark skirt that clung to her hips, flaring out once the fabric went past her arse, accentuating her figure even more. The slippers she had on were made of the finest fabric, glimmering with each step she took. She reached behind her, every arch and motion she made was fluid and graceful. Even Raquel seemed mesmerized as she watched Semone undo her braid, letting the golden waves run freely down her partially exposed back. Semone took her fingertips and fluffed out her bangs, attempting to make them cooperate. She hated her bangs, but she couldn't deny she looked good with them.

"You're wearing... _that_."

"I know it is short notice but it is going to have to do for now," Semone stated, smiling at Raquel's bewilderment. The plain Jane beside her had already lost the bet, but Semone was going to humor her, and crush her spirits. "So what happens if I win?" Semone asked, quirking a neatly preened brow curiously, "The competition is so stiff, after all," she teased.

"If I win, I get your earnings for this whole month... and if you win, you get the same." Raquel quipped, looking determined. She began to preen and straighten herself out right there. She walked back up the stone steps to the large oak doors of the whorehouse. She knew what she was wearing now, compared to Semone, wouldn't get her anywhere in comparison. That was something you constantly had to do in the business. Compare yourself to other women. You had to make yourself out to be as beautiful as humanly possible to a wide audience of men who varied in tastes.

"Deal, I could always use the extra pocket change," Semone yelled after Raquel, watching her run back into the whorehouse with her proverbial tail between her legs. Semone's chest swelled with pride. When Raquel came back outside she was wearing her own best clothing, to attempt and rival Semone. Raquel reached and pulled her frizzy red hair into a ponytail, trying to straighten out the wayward curls and strands to make herself look more preventable.

"Oh you look lovely, dear," Semone stated, in a tone that confused and angered Raquel even further. She couldn't tell if the tone was supposed to be condescending or truthful

Raquel cleared her throat and placed her knuckles on her wide-set hips matter of factly, "They should be making their way through this part of town any minute now. If they're creatures of habit they'll come by around the same time they did last night."

Semone smiled at this and leaned against some wooden railing that encompassed the building. Already there was no mistaking a woman of superior wealth compared to the whores that flaunted themselves in front of the whore house.


	2. The Red Knight

Semone was used to playing the waiting game. After all, it took an interested buyer to show the cash first before she was able to start working. She had been leaning against the railing that encompassed the whorehouse. She gave a thoughtful glance down at her nails every now and again, the tips rubbing against one another. The courtesan's persistent nail clicking was setting the redheaded prostitute on edge, which of course only fueled Semone's delight, allowing her to continue the sound absentmindedly.

After a moment or two Semone even forgot she was making the noise as tall, dark and abrasive figures were making their way down the cobblestone street. She stopped rubbing the tips of her nails together and gracefully pushed herself away from the railing, taking a few steps forward to get a better look at the figures walking down the road. Let's just say that it was not a difficult task pointing out who the infamous Red Knight was. She found it a little ironic that he himself had red hair and was wearing a red tunic. She smirked a little at this fact and glanced over towards Raquel, who was doing her best to make herself look as alluring as humanly possible. "Not too hard to spot, is he?" Semone teased, her body began to relax as she waited for the infamous Red Knight and his men to come closer.

Today had been very empowering, to say the least. Four new recruits had been scraped up from the innermost slums of the ill-reputed Thieves Landing, all eager to follow orders so long as the promise of riches and glory was continuously dangled in front of them. And now that the day's dirty work was over with and the feeling of sweet success on the horizon was still pumping through his massive veins, Sir Ruber, The Red Knight, felt it was again time to release some of his excess zeal. And why not? The ladies should have some hope, too. Ruber could only imagine the kind of wretched lives those whores led, all of the disgusting pricks they had sex with just so that they could afford table scraps. They were so pitiful, he thought, and they deserved to be graced with his presence while they still had the chance, before he ascended the throne and would only have the most beautiful and charming women of all. Sir Ruber grimaced slightly as he proudly strode down the wet cobblestone streets, the bulge in his pants swelling uncomfortably against the coarse black fabric. Yes, definitely time to pay them another visit.

Ruber hummed a mildly sadistic tune, his arms swinging gingerly by his sides as he approached the whore house, which he and his men had been frequenting ever since they first arrived in Thieves Landing a few days ago. The frigid wind whipped through his red hair, and a light drizzle began to fall from the overcast skies above. He wore no cloak, just his coarse canvas pants and red tunic, but the rain was not really to his disadvantage. A little nippy weather was never a setback for the Red Knight. And as he often liked to remind himself, neither was anything else.

Ah, but there were the lovely ladies now, displaying themselves in front of the house of ill fame as if they'd nothing to be ashamed of. Ruber's natural sneer widened into a toying grin as he approached the group of women, his hands perched on his slender hips as he eyed the lot of them, wondering to himself which would be the most… vigorous. Two whores in particular kept catching his eye; they seemed to each hold very distinct pride in themselves, more than the other prostitutes who stood about waiting for customers. There was the first one, with bright orange hair, wearing a dress that one could tell used to be a lovely specimen, but was now tattered and over-worn, and probably filthy. The girl herself seemed to be at least moderately healthy, but you could tell she had seen way more than her fair share of _abuse. _And then, there was the second woman. Sir Ruber raised a brow at her suspiciously. He was having trouble believing that this whore was a whore at all. It couldn't have been. She was so well kept and dressed so finely. Her pale flesh was so clear and creamy, taut as if she were still a child. And her hair was so golden, it waved and shined as if it were made of sunbeams, ones that refused to let the rain and clouds snuff them out. There was no way a woman as beautiful as she could be lowered to such a business as prostitution. And yet, there she was, standing in front of the whore house, flaunting her body with great pride, but also grace.

Semone could feel his gaze switch between her and Raquel. But honestly, it wasn't hard to tell who he thought was more beautiful out of the two women. That was something that Semone prided herself on, and that was the one thing that Raquel would not forget, not after tonight. She flourished under his gaze, and seemed to relax more than Raquel did. He was approaching, and this was when Semone saw his face, and his steely, bright green eyes. She wouldn't say it out loud and you couldn't tell by the enthused, tempted expression on her face that she thought he was uglier than sin. This was because she was an excellent liar. She was an A-class actress. Men paid her to have sex with them, and on many occasions she would fake wonderful orgasms to make them feel validated that they were indeed great men. So great that they could make a woman soar into the waves of ecstasy and have a truly mind-blowing orgasm. Because that was what they wanted. They wanted the sex, but most of all, a lot of her clients wanted to feel appreciated and wanted.

Ruber stepped toward the two women. The red haired one seemed to look very hopeful as he approached, but he could see the desperate snarl overcome her lips as he walked right past her and addressed the woman with the blonde hair. Ah, what exquisite eyes she had, and such full pink lips. He could already imagine them wrapped around his—

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" inquired Ruber, circling around her once, and stopping at her front to face her, his body only inches from hers. "What a pretty little cherub you are. Now why weren't you here last night? I wouldn't 'ave minded the jacked up prices of this shit hole if it'd been you I was paying for. What's your name, little lady?"

By the bulge in Sir Ruber's pants, however, and by the quick once-over he gave her as he circled her, much like a vulture circling his prey, Semone could tell that he was just trying to release some pent up tension. He was just looking for a good time. For the right price, she could give him a great time. He was certainly an overpowering man, not only in stature but in presence. She was impressed, because she couldn't remember the last time a client gave her chills. She suppressed the urge to let her shoulders shake. She inhaled silently through her nose, exhaling through the small gap she made between her teeth and lips. By the time he stood in front of her, she was smiling charmingly at him.

"My name is Semone, M'Lord, and you flatter me greatly." she took a moment to size him up, looking from his boots, all the way to his natural sneer and pointed nose. She began to circle him now, nice and slow, so she could inspect his body, admire the firm bulging muscle and proud posture he held. "I'm am so sorry you had to pay such outrageous prices... and for such _mediocre _service, I'm sure." she glanced to Raquel, unsheathing a wicked smirk. When she turned to face him, much like he did to her, their bodies were inches apart. Semone watched the slow but impressive sight of his chest raising up and down as he breathed. She smiled, obviously impressed. What was important to her was that _he _knew she was impressed.

"I'm a courtesan, M'lord. I am in charge of my own clientele and am rather self-sufficient in what I do." she looked up at him, and briefly swiped her bangs away from her forehead, only for them to persistently swish back into place. "Courtesans can afford to be a little choosy, you know, with who they get to serve," Semone lifted her arms delicately, her fingertips grazing his chest in a feather-light touch. "It is my understanding that any man can pay for a prostitute but only a man with wealth and prestige such as yourself can have the utmost pleasure of purchasing my services... and from what I can tell.." she raised a brow at him insistingly, a playful smirk stretching across her luscious lips, "It would be _my_ greatest pleasure to serve you."

He was hooked, obviously, and whats more, Semone was hooked on the fact that she had won not just Ruber's wallet, but also Raquel's. She pressed herself against him, chest against chest, only a few inches of fabric separating the both of them. The exiled knight was a great deal taller than her, so she did her best to stand on her toes steadily, leaning closer and closer so her lips were mere inches away from his ear. "What say you, if we take a short stroll to my humble abode? We could talk about prices and fetishes along the way... and I _guarantee_ for the right price, there isn't a thing I wouldn't mind you doing to me." she smiled once more, lowering herself onto the arch of her feet, her heels once again making contact with the ground. But she remained close, eyes twinkling, a playful and almost _eager_ smirk stayed present on her lips.


	3. Jesters Enter Stage Left

Author's Note: Well I'm glad this thing has so many views so far. But me and my dear co-writer, Anneke are a little disheartened by the lack of comments. We're not quite sure if we should continue or if we should just call it quits.  
I know the grammar isn't perfect, so we will try to be improving the way we word things in the following chapters.  
The main thing that we're concerned with is we're not even sure if anybody likes this fic or not. So after reading each chapter, if you could post a comment, that would be fantastic. It can literally be about anything in the story. Something you liked, something you didn't like. We're really looking for honest opinions and constructive criticism But hey, thanks for reading so far or just taking a look. Glad to know this has some appeal.

-

Camelot was the epitome of a thriving civilization. They had come so far since the ten years after Sir Lionel's death. It was truly remarkable, almost as if Sir Lionel himself were watching over them, thought Amenthis.

She had been nine years old during Sir Ruber's betrayal, consequently also through the death of Sir Lionel, and she could remember how sad everybody had been. It was almost as if a piece of everybody died with the knight.

She brushed her long fingers through her smooth coal black hair and stood in front of her open wardrobe. She placed her hands over her temples, pressing softly at an attempt to relieve some of the pressure she could feel building in the sides of her head. _So many decisions. _They had a performance in three days, the day all the knights would be gathering at King Arthur's round table. She was nervous. Because she _had_ to do well, to impress Dad. Because in all honesty, nobody else would.

Amenthis had been born into a family of jesters. That's right, laugh it off, jesters. The people who play dress up in those ridiculously tight leotards, the ones that make you laugh. Yeah. To the public eye their job wasn't really all that glorious, but at least they liked what they did. Well... at least _she_ liked what she did. And because Amenthis did like jestering and performing in front of crowds, she had to look remarkable at every performance. They all had to look spectacular, but at least she _tried_ to look good. Amentis was the oldest of four siblings. After her came Caroline, who was abnormally optimistic like their father. After Caroline came Ferra, who resembled their mother when it came to both temperament and looks. The youngest of them was Abdul, their only brother, who was the spitting image of their father when it came to appearance. They all varied in personality, looks and goals, but they all loved each other and they were the kind of people that were always there for one another when it mattered.

"What're you doing?" a high pitched voice came from behind Amenthis.

The nineteen year old jester standing in front of her wardrobe looked over her shoulder casually, seeing the lissome form of her younger brother standing behind her. "What did I say about you coming into my room?"

"To knock before I come in."

"Uh huh, and what didn't you do?"

"You must be losing your hearing in your old age, Amenthis," Abdul smiled playfully. The thirteen year old boy strutted to his sister's bed, stretching in his tight yellow and black leotard. He lazily raised his hands above his head and began doing cartwheels all around his sister's room, short brown hair flowing with his movements.

"Abdul, what should I wear?" Amenthis stepped to the side, holding two colorful leotards in her hands. She held one up, "This one?" then she held up the other in the opposite hand. "Or this one?" by the time she looked up to address her brother in all seriousness he was doing a handstand, attempting to maintain his balance using his skinny legs.

Abdul looked to the two leotards his sister was holding and hummed thoughtfully, "I like the red one... no the blue one. No, red... no blue, no... red. No, wait... _both_." Abdul nodded his head approvingly, causing him to lose his balance. His feet landed on the ground with a light _thump_, allowing him to regain his balance and stand up.

Well, that was certainly the last time she was going to be asking for a mans opinion on what she should wear. Amenthis lowered the leotard and turned them around in her hands so she could look at the fronts, "Well thank you, Abdul... for making my already tedious decision just that more tedious."

"Anytime!" Abdul winked at his sister slyly. Amenthis just knew the little shit loved relishing in her torment. The boy hopped onto his sister's bed and bounced on the comfortable mattress. "I don't see why your decision should be so tedious to begin with, we're not even performing today!"

"No, but whenever we do I want to look my best." Amenthis put her outfits back in her wardrobe, scratching the back of her head thoughtfully. Long tussles of her black hair dangled over her shoulders, covering her chest and parts of her back. "I feel as though somebody is doing something fun without us," she said in a distant tone, her grey eyes starring at nothing in particular. She smoothed out the lavender leotard she was wearing. "Yeah, like somebody is about to do something fun, like right now." she got like this, where she would sense as though somebody in her family was about to do something, whether it be good or bad. Nine times out of ten what she said usually held some truth. So most if not all of her family members took her _feelings_ seriously.

What she did say got Abdul to stop bouncing on her bed, though. He looked puzzled at Amenthis, and suddenly blurted, "Like what?"

"Guess we have to go see what's up then," Amenthis stated in a tone that suggested they didn't have much of a choice. She smirked a bit, grabbing her brothers hand when he jumped off the bed, and began walking with the small lad out of her room and into the castle hallway. It honestly didn't take them long to see what Amenthis had been mentioning. Hovering over a banister, crouched down, looking as though he were about to pounce on his pray was Rasheed, their Father.

"Father-."

"_Shh!_"

"Jeez, sorry," Amenthis let go of Abdul's hand and began to crawl over towards her father's side, hunching down next to him, "What're you doing?"

"Taking advantage.. of the element.. of surprise, daughter," Rasheed had, in his hands, a bowl of wine. Below him, talking to the King, was Merlin, the King's wizard and trusted confidant. Rasheed spoke slowly, as if he were measuring something.

"Father-."

"Wait for it," Rasheed extended his arm out from safety of the banister and tipped the liquid out of the bowl, smiling widely when he heard the old man groan and yell in a disgruntled tone.

"Oh, now you did it," Abdul leaned his head over the banister, being able to fit between a pair of support bars. Abdul yanked his head out from behind the bars quickly as soon as both Merlin and the King looked up.

"That, children, is how you catch an old man off guard." Rasheed stood up and placed the bowl on the edge of the railing, dusting his hands off as though he completed some grand task. "My work here is done."

Amenthis and Abdul looked at each other, chuckling at their Father's antics. Sometimes they wondered how their dear Mother coped.


	4. Sentimental Happenings

"Okay, I can do this… I just need to properly assert myself… Mom, I want to go out and do some adventuring. Now I know what you're going to say; that it's too dangerous, and I'm too young, and the family needs to stay together, and my place is here, blah, blah, blah… You've said it a thousand times,_ but come on!_ I'm going to be eighteen this summer! Don't you think it's time to give me some wiggle room? I'm not asking you for much. I just want to see the countryside. The rest of the world can come later, if that's what you want. I understand that France is a little far… See? We can work with each other on this! We don't _have_ to be enemies! I know Dad won't like it, but hey, he doesn't _have_ to know until I'm out of sight, right?"

Caroline sighed as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Straight strands of dirty-blonde hair hung in front of her large, vivid green eyes and around the sides of her teardrop face; the rest was pulled back in a high ponytail. She wore a full-body leotard, which covered her body from the top of her neck all the way down to the very tips of her dainty toes. It was the standard uniform for all of the jesters of King Arthur's court. It was only proper for them to have such tight, flexible outfits, slender and elegant as they all were. The design of the jesters' uniforms, however, was up to each individual jester. Being a proud, noble lot of entertainers, they often chose patterns and colors and designs that represented specific qualities of who they were. Caroline's favorite uniform to wear happened to be half orange and half red, with an elegant red sunburst decorating the shoulder of the orange side and large red diamonds going down and wrapping around her leg, and vise versa with the red side decorated with an orange sunburst and orange diamonds. She loved the bright, bold tones of the colors. They made her feel happy and powerful.

"They'll never let me leave…" she whispered to herself, her golden brows furrowing. Although castle life was very luxurious for Caroline and her family, and she appreciated it, there was something inside Caroline that needed to roam, and dreaming was becoming not good enough. She didn't want fame or glory. Those things would be nice, but what would really have made her happy was to travel, to see things not many people had seen and do things not many people would have the spirit to do. To entertain others had always been and would always be in her heart, she would always love the sound of a crowd clapping for her, but when would she be allowed to fulfill her own needs?

Caroline's ears perked up when she heard light footsteps making their way up the narrow walkway toward her room. She took in a deep breath and went to her door, pausing before opening it, reviewing the little speech she had so carefully planned out, and turned the knob. "Mom! Hey!"

The tall, cool figure in the black and white checkered uniform turned around, long raven-black hair draped over her shoulder like fine, heavy silk. "Sweetheart, how are you?" said Victoria with a warm smile, despite her snow white skin and hard grey eyes. She was a very beautiful woman, kind and loving in many ways, but she could also be stern and calculating. One could tell that Caroline had inherited her bright and cheery demeanor from her father, Rasheed.

"I'm good mom, but listen, I wanted to talk to you about some things…"

"No boys until you are eighteen. You don't want to end up like me and your father, do you?" Victoria asked, a joking smirk on her dark lips. "Ack, speak of the devil…"

The two women had turned a corner, only to see Rasheed pointing his finger at his other two children, Amenthis and Abdule. He was most likely giving them a very important lesson on how to enrage people without being caught.

Rasheed had actually just been in the middle of telling his children the one time he had managed to braid Merlin's beard. Of course, he was using this particular tale of woes as an example of what _not_ to do while in a pranking situation. Mid-braid the old wizard woke up from his nap, and Rasheed had the ever-so troubling dilemma of escaping the old man's wrath. You wouldn't expect a man nearing... _good lord..._ how old was he, a hundred? Either way, you wouldn't expect a crotchety old man like him to chase Rasheed out of his room, waving his staff furiously after him. Rasheed rubbed the back of his head, remembering the painful _thump_ of the wooden staff.

However, even the jester was surprised that he and Merlin had been on considerably happier terms as of recently.

It had finally gotten to the point where Merlin wasn't making threatening glares at him anymore and Rasheed could finally be in the same room as the old man and not stick out his tongue at him defiantly. But that was boring to Rasheed. What was the point in living if you couldn't spice things up a little bit? Besides, he was pretty positive Merlin hadn't seen him. He was even more positive that if Merlin suspected anything, he would put the blame on Abdul. This was _why_ he had children, after all.

All jokes and giggles aside, when Victoria and Caroline turned the corner, he grinned from ear to ear. "There is my lovely wife!" Rasheed strutted over toward Victoria and embraced her without hesitation, without even thinking. His lean, muscular arms wrapped around her waist in a tight, loving embrace. He pressed his soft brown lips against her forehead, pulling his face away to nuzzle his nose into her hair. Victoria always smelt _so_ good. It was extremely difficult not to just take a handful of her hair and just take a nice, deep whiff.

Victoria was Rasheed's rock. If he got out of hand, she'd rectify him. If he was out of shape, she would straighten him out. If he was unbalanced she would do her best to help him find his center. She was the very rock his whole foundation was built upon. She was the sun that revolved around his world. Hell, she _was_ his world. One of the things that caught his attention about her the most when they had first met was her skin, how luminous and foreign it had appeared to him at first sight. He had been bought and sold as a slave from Persia, which explained his darker skin and more non-European features. Arthur offered him a place in his court, and that was when Rasheed was mentored by the preexisting jester before him.

He loosened his grip on Victoria, giving her forehead one last kiss before he came to stand beside her, a hand readjusting to rest on her hip.

"I was just telling the children that they should always respect their elders, regardless of how crotchety they are," he explained, actually sounding quite serious, which was a joke within itself. Rasheed was rarely ever serious.

"He was also teaching us how to catch poor, unsuspecting elders off guard by drenching them in wine," Amenthis grabbed the edge of the silver bowl, that Rasheed had put on top of the railing, waving it in the air as validation. "Not that I mind or anything, old guys give me the creeps." She set the bowl back down and smirked mischievously when she saw Caroline standing next to their mother, having a rather _put out_ expression on her face. Amenthis was the oldest, and had recently just turned nineteen as of this year. She resembled a lot of her mother, having rich, heavy black hair, her mother's cold grey eyes. Her skin was a shade or two darker than Caroline's, resembling her father in that regard.

Abdul was as fair skinned as his mother, and had his father's dark brown hair, warm and comforting eyes to match. He was the youngest, and Ferra, their other sibling came before him and after Caroline.

Amenthis walked over towards Caroline and linked her arm with hers lovingly. Out of all her siblings, Amenthis was the closest with Caroline, and it was just obvious by the way they looked at each other. It was like they both knew a secret that was just kept between the two of them.

"Maybe we can go tend to Merlin, see if he's alright?" Abdul asked, just wanting an excuse to see Arthur, who he admired and looked up to almost adoringly. Many a time had he been eavesdropping on Round Table conversations when he had not been supposed to. But he really couldn't help it. The kid dreamed of becoming a knight one day, regardless of what his father wanted for him.

"Yeah I better go apologize," Rasheed stated in a tone that suggested he didn't _want_ to, but he would if he had no other choice. By the way Victoria was looking at him he was assuming he _wouldn't_ have a choice one way or the other.

It was Caroline this time, who rolled her large eyes playfully at her father's reluctance to be a good person. They then fell onto her lovely sister Amenthis, who had her arm snuggly intertwined with her own as they stood side by side. Caroline had wanted to talk to her mother, but it no longer really seemed like a good time now that she was giving Rasheed that menacing sideways glare. Caroline smirked softly and began to tug Amenthis back down the hallway.

"Come on," she started. "Let's go before mom finds a reason to be mad at us too." She led Amenthis through the long stone corridor and down a set of stairs which descended into a large antechamber, and out a heavy large door that they both had to work to pull shut again. Ah, but at last they were outside. "I'd say we should go find Ferra, but I'm not sure I want to know what she's up to… There's got to be something to do around here. What say you?" she asked Amenthis.

Amenthis was about to mention that, _yeah, looking for Ferra probably wouldn't turn up any good results,_ until she noticed Abdul standing casually next to Caroline. "Sneaky, what're you doing here?"

"You don't expect me to stay with the two of them, do you?" Abdul asked, looking almost put out at his sister's response. "The only thing worse than watching the two of them arguing is watching the two of them get all _sentimental_ on one another," Abdul explained, folding his arms over his chest rather crossly.

Rasheed on the other hand, found his encounters with his wife to be quite humorous. Granted, sometimes things wouldn't land in his favor immediately. But lets just say Rasheed was good at knowing what buttons to press and when to press them.

"Rasheed…" Victoria turned to her husband after their children had gone and raised a perfectly preened black brow. She was about to say something stern and scolding, but the loving expression he was giving her softened her voice before it could leave her throat. She gave a gentle sigh as a result of her husband's affects on her, "Rasheed, please, you can't keep giving the children license to be foolish."

The look he gave her clearly said, _why not?!_ To which Victoria hurried exasperatedly, "What if they haven't inherited your good luck? They might prank the wrong person someday, and then what will they do? You can't just teach them caution when messing with someone; you need to teach them caution in choosing their friends and enemies as well, because someday they're bound to be caught by someone, and they might get more than a slap on the wrist..." Victoria crossed her arms loosely, her head tilting slightly to the side so that her long black hair swept over her shoulder. She gave another sigh, and then a tiny smirk, stepping forward so that she could wrap her arms up around Rasheed's neck and give him a quick kiss. She nuzzled her forehead into the crook of his neck and let her hand slide down to rest on his slender chest. "My hair's going to go grey early because of you, I just know it," she said to him in a very mellow tone, giving his chest a light thump with her pale fist.

"Oh, I wouldn't doubt it," he stated playfully. He rested his arms around her hips and brought her close. The light touch of her hand on his chest gave him chills, still.

"And yet I love you so."

She really did love him so. They'd known each other since they were very young. There were few things about one that the other did not know. They'd liked each other, they'd hated each other, they'd loved each other, and then they'd hated each other again. Obviously they had made amends each and every time, _eventually. _Sometimes it took longer than other times, but they had always made it through. Every fight they'd ever had, every break-up, made them stronger and more durable. And Victoria was forever more thankful for that. Now that she and Rasheed were married and had four outstanding children, she couldn't imagine living her life with anyone else. Rasheed was one of the few that could make her laugh, he was her joy, he was the soft cloud that would catch her whenever she fell into despair or sadness, he was the reason she was happy now. And before Rasheed, she had never truly known happiness outside of playing her sweet violin.


End file.
